Mass Effect: Humanity Rising
by BoredZero
Summary: This story features a humanity that remembers its own science fiction and doesn't stop asking why. Rated T for language. May go up in the future. Alternate Universe. Also Features Mobile Infantry.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was written out of boredom. I do not own Mass Effect, Star Trek, Starship Troopers, Uplink, or anything else I may use. If you have a complaint, be civil. If you have a flame...**

**Well, you know what you can do with it. Updates will not be regular. You have been notified. **

* * *

In 2148, humanity discovered an ancient repository of knowledge and a cache of advanced technology the likes of which they had never seen. With it was an unknown element capable of generating a field that manipulated the mass of any object within it. This was called the mass effect.

But that didn't mean humanity was ready to suddenly jump on the bandwagon. Their own technology, while nothing as fancy as the mass effect, was still fairly advanced. This was largely due to the need to develop more efficient technologies to reverse the damage they had done to their own planet during World War Three.

The global economy was devastated; cities destroyed, forest burned, and nearly two billion lives were lost. The war had started in 2022 and ended just a year later, but the damage was immense. It took humanity the next eighty years to make a dent in damage, but they didn't just remain there.

Several ark ships were built with the most advanced technologies available at the time, designed to be self-sufficient and capable of establishing a terraforming operation on Mars. The Terraforming Fleet was finished in 2087 and launched with nearly half a million total.

It took a decade to fully terraform Mars - but with a new habitable planet in the system and ships that could ferry people to and from with relative ease, the migration began.

Humanity continued to advance, until a short interplanetary conflict in 2103, which showed a great need to further shielding technology, as well as develop anti-orbital defenses. The old, conventional stuff wouldn't suffice anymore. Somewhere along the line, people stopped caring about money – which was what allowed the construction of a new ship meant to explore the stars. We can't just think of ourselves anymore, people started to say.

Six years after that, in honor of the works of Gene Roddenberry, the man who created a series that inspired so many, the first exploratory starship ever built – the NX-01 Enterprise was christened with a newer, refined warp drive. Unlike the earlier, primitive ones on the arks, the warp engine onboard the NX-01 was, like its fictional counterpart, rated for Warp Five, which led to the question of whether or not Gene Roddenberry was really a time traveler.

This was quickly disproven, due to the lack of Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, and in general, any life within the vicinity of the Sol System.

But that didn't deter humanity from exploring the stars. Three more NX class ships were built, each one armed with particle weapons and anti-matter torpedoes. The "phasers", so named for their fictional counterparts, were in reality, high energy positron lasers based on the design from the early 2000's.

They were also, like their counterparts, armed with energy shields – unlike the ark ships, whom were simply clad in polarized hull plating. Effective, but crude, and it was the best they could do powered by fusion reactors. The warp fields they used weren't very powerful, but due to the fact that the fields themselves had the ability to lower inertial mass, it shortened the trip by effectively lightening the load – which was not similar to what element zero did.

And then, 2148 rolled around. Element Zero's mass affecting properties were discovered. Warp drive refinement was there, but they had come no closer to breaking the warp five barrier.

And then, in 2151, a scientist theorized that if element zero could be incorporated into the existing Alcubierre drive, they'd be able to finally break the Warp Five barrier and achieve speeds previously thought impossible. Fans of Star Trek would later liken Element Zero to dilithium.

That same year, researchers at the Mars Archive discover that Charon is actually an artificial moon, housing a device the Protheans call a "Mass relay", which allows for near instantaneous travel by creating a mass-free corridor to another relay, and then essentially lightening the ship and then accelerating it to speeds otherwise impossible.

It was decided then, to break the relay free and attempt an activation. It was successful, and one month after that, a probe was sent through using the instructions in the Archives. Since it didn't explode on the way off, Starfleet (again, in honor of Roddenberry's work, and the direction it led humanity towards) asked its captains for volunteers to take their ship through the relay, activate the relay on the other side, and transit back. There was no shortage of volunteers.

Six years after that, an exploration task group comprised of two Roddenberry-class science vessels and three Daedalus class starships encountered Relay "314", the relay on the other end of the Shanxi relay.

First Contact was _not_ peaceful to say the least.

* * *

Years Later...

Deep within what used to be the United States' NORAD complex in Cheyanne Mountain, the Director of Starfleet's non-existent Secret Intelligence Service, codenamed "M" looked over the reports the Diplomatic Corps had forwarded. As expected, Councilor Sparatus was indeed the dissenter on the Council, and would no doubt also be the one who would decide who would be the Spectre observer.

But since the Turians also made up a large majority of Citadel Forces, they also had the largest number of officers in the SPECTRES. Frankly, he wondered exactly why humanity agreed to take up the offer to join the Citadel Council. Sure, we got some stuff in return, but by in large, the Council was the one who came out on top.

The Salarians, with their specialty in science and espionage and their tendency to have plans on how to kill everyone they meet, that was nothing new. The Asari, being the blue skinned seductresses they were, had both beauty and bang – but because of their long age and "long view" mentality, they were the easiest to deal with in terms of civility. The Turians however, were still teetering on a Civil War, though it was not over whether or not humanity did wrong – but rather whether or not to crucify Vakarian and honor Scultus or crucify Scultus and honor Vakarian for the events at Relay 314.

The autocratic philosophy of the Turians seemed to be biting them in the ass since it was also relatively inflexible.

Then again, nearly all of the Citadel races were inflexible. All across the board, their technologies, while having minute differences in usage and construction, were all basically ther same – eezo core to lighten the load and a fusion reactor for power. There was even a Citadel law banning anti-matter research – which was something humanity _did not _tell the Council – nor did they reveal the existence of their AI's, given the close minded nature of the galaxy regarding artificial intelligences.

In his opinion, they were asking for it. You cannot simply treat an artificial life form as if they were not a living being simply because they were constructed of inorganic materials.

And the deeper he dug into the Citadel's history, the more annoyed he got – though scientists did discover something interesting.

The relay at Charon was dated to have been at least a million or so years old. Subsequent dating on other relays indicated their ages varied anywhere between a few million to the youngest of fifty-thousand years, which begged the question – if the relays were indeed built by the Protheans (which he and just about every other credible anthropologist doubted), then why was there nothing in the Archives on how to actually build them?

Granted, it could've been merely an issue of an incomplete database, but there was no visible damage and no damage to the data as far as their diagnostics could tell. He made a memo to fire off to the Archive's Institute to start digging into the older files.

Then there were the samples they took from the Citadel – sections of it indicated it was very new, other sections indicated that it was older than the dinosaurs.

As far as the intergalactic anthropological and historical community was concerned however, they had stopped looking because nobody had any luck finding anything older – and therefore, must mean that there was nothing before the Protheans.

Only ONE out of the entire community had a theory that the Protheans were not in fact, the creators of the relays – but because there was no evidence to support that, the theory was written off as a joke.

Once again, he found himself shaking his head and wondered if any of these races had even heard of radiometric dating.

Or proper first contact protocols. The Yahg and the Krogan were prime examples of that.

He had to wonder if any effort was actually made to look for an actual solution instead of a quick fix. Suen may have been inhospitable, but wasn't that what the hard suits were for? Did they even _try_ to understand the Rachni?

So many questions with no answers literally surrounded the Citadel's every move – and that was just the iceberg. Three hundred years ago, they barred the Quarians for the creation of the Geth, but to date, there were almost no mentions of Geth forces anywhere. The Quarians on the other hand had since been degraded to living onboard a fleet of aging ships, thus reducing their immune system's strength to the point where anything not sanitized would cause a violent reaction like a very advanced form of autoimmune disease or anaphylactic shock.

And then there were the Batarians – a race whose culture was very harsh and was entirely based around slavery. Why they were allowed to continuously operate in Citadel Space with little or no punitive measures in place for their slave runs was beyond comprehension.

Them, he suggested a planetary takeover if and when the Batarians decided to enslave a human colony. Slavery was an absolutely barbaric practice – one that deserved to die out with the ages.

And then, there were the Krogan – a warrior race reduced to nothing because the Council uplifted them to do their dirty work, then turned around and cursed because their mess turned around and bit them.

The ban of anti-matter research. The ban of opening new relays. The lack of any significant variantion in technology. The lack of any curiousity or questioning at the lack of anything before the Protheans. The "AI" boogeyman.

M rubbed his temples.

Why did they join the Citadel again? Almost their entire fleet ran on matter-antimatter reaction reactors _and_ they all had AI.

He shook his head, flipping through the weekly report.

There were a grand total of two hundred and forty nine threats, all of varying levels ranging from Omega Black to Alpha White. Most of the listed threats were Alpha White, and the total number of threats in the SIS's jurisdiction this week was two. The only thing the SIS was interested in were those classified as Tau or higher.

How fun.

"Sir? You'll want to see this." His assistant said, handing him a report.

He glanced down at it and raised an eyebrow.

"Shepard's kid is going into the MI?"

Created in honor of Heinlein's Starship Troopers, humanity's own Mobile Infantry did much the same job with gear designed based on his creations.

* * *

Alexandria Shepard, daughter of Captain Shepard sat nervously on the shuttlecraft currently ferrying herself and several others from Jump Zero to an undisclosed planet only known by its nickname "The Forge". This was due entirely to the fact that the entire planet was under the Mobile Infantry's control – and was where _the_ most heavily armed and deadliest warriors were put through hell and emerged Mobile Infantry.

The planet itself was barely class M – capable of sustaining life, but not without a lot of fight. It was not a place where one could expect to simply eek out a comfortable living without the help of technology.

She heard the stories from her old man, and from countless others in Starfleet; some swore by the MI, and others found them to be an unpleasant but unnecessary asset to humanity, who had worked so hard to eradicate war.

Still, as the saying went, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

The worst thing any civilization could ever do most philosophers, professors and academists agreed, was complete and total disarmament. There would always exist some criminal, some crime somewhere no matter how advanced the civilization.

A sudden bump shocked her out of her thoughts.

_"Sorry about that ladies and gents – we appear to be having some trouble with our internal inertia dampeners. We expect the problem to be rectified in a few minutes."_

The calm tone of the pilot was a nice contrast to the anxious eagerness of everyone sitting in the craft with her. Most of them wanted to be heroes – to go forth and fight the good fight, earn medals, that kind of thing.

She had little illusion of what would await her in the future – a man named Zaeed had seen to that. They'd met during the stop-over and the man had recognized her as Shepard's daughter. Having served with him back when he was just a Sergeant, he took it upon himself to educate her on exactly how hellish war could be, showing her the faceplate they had to install to fix his face when the partner he had started a company with paid four men to hold him down while he put one in his face. Santiago's mistake, according to him, was that he had used one of them "shitty Turian pistols".

He had also told her that MI training was hellish, brutal, and that anyone who makes it past the first week should be respected.

She sighed to herself, having no idea how long it's been since they had taken off. They had removed all of their omni-tools and watches. They were, effectively, naked in terms of gear. The only thing they were allowed to bring was one bag of personal effects.

She had a knife and a gun her father gave her – both of which were early MI. The pistol was chambered for .50 caliber armor piercing, high explosive incendiary "Raufoss" ammunition, and the knife was a seven inch Ka-bar bayonet with a monomolecular edge. She also had with her a picture, a few trinkets, and a copy of Heinlein's "Starship Troopers".

Most importantly however, around her neck were her tags and those of her mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, who had died onboard the USS Rogers during an engagement somewhere along the border of the Terminus Systems protecting a Quarian patrol fleet that had fallen under attack from a force of slavers.

She wondered what her mother would've said to her if she had still been alive.

Yawning, she decided to take a nap in her seat, leaning against the window cover as she did so.

Five minutes later, the entire cabin had fallen asleep, and the door to the cockpit opened.

"Gas is clear. Masks off." One of the men ordered. "Time?"

"Coming on sixteen hours, Chief."

"Good. Prep for initiation." He ordered, walking the aisles, looking at the faces of his new company.

He paused only briefly when he passed by the sleeping form of the younger Shepard, grunting. "Location?"

"Pilot reports we've begun deceleration burn."

The Chief grinned sadistically. "Then let's get ready to recieve."

Some minutes later...

_"__**GET YOUR ASSES OFF MY DAMN SHIP!"**_were the first words she ever heard. She found herself trying to scramble to her feet, but her body just wouldn't respond. It felt lethargic – like the same feeling you get after you've slept on your arm wrong for a good while. Her eyes wouldn't stay open, and she felt like ignoring the loud annoying man and going back to sleep.

Except they were all being hauled to their feet and shoved roughly out the door onto the hot, sandy surface with shouting all around them, yelling at them to line up into three lines an arm length apart.

She was doing relatively well compared to everyone else judging by the number of people who were struggling to simply stay upright.

Once the group had finished forming up and the shuttles gone, the dust had cleared to reveal to them a bunch of MI troopers in a line in front of them. Each one of them were smartly dressed and looked like the mini sandstorm that had just taken place had never happened.

"My name is Master Chief Petty Officer Pierce, your senior drill instructor! To my left and my right are my cadre – and for the next several months, we are going to _destroy _you. We will tear you apart and rebuild you – because right now, not a single one of you is worth the goddamn fuel it took to get you here. If you don't want to keep at this, you're welcome to step out now and wait for the next shuttle off this planet." He paused and waited.

A _third_ of those currently in the formation started to get away and head towards the spaceport.

"You see them?" The Chief asked, gesturing towards the leavers. "They're the smart ones. They left before they got themselves and other people killed. Rest of you idiots, well – can't say the same. Sergeant!"

"Yes, Chief!"

"Show 'em their new quarters." The Chief ordered. "Consider you pukes lucky – today, you get to take it easy. Enjoy it – because this will be the _last_ you'll ever have in a very long time. Get going!"

Once all the recruits had been filed out, he turned around with a great big grin.

"Alright Athena, who won the bet?" He asked.

One of the corporals (a woman) brought out a small notebook. "The total amount of leavers across the board is...one thousand, two hundred and forty nine. Chief wins again."

There was a chorus of "aw's" and "damns".

The Chief simply grinned. "Told you suckers."

Meanwhile, in the barracks...

Unlike Starfleet who put their cadets and recruits in "co-ed" barracks by assigning rooms to same sex recruits, the MI didn't give a flying crap if you were male, female or transgender. Everyone went to the same bathrooms and showers, which made for a very awkward first week there owing to the fact that some people were trying to hide signs of sexual arousal in the shower.

Once they had all changed into their new uniforms and fed, they were brought in for a series of lectures from the planet's commander, a full bird Colonel, who had explained to them exactly what was expected of them and a brief overview of the trials coming their way.

One of the things that made MI training so difficult was that unlike Starfleet's training, which took place in proper buildings, the MI trained as if they were in the field. That meant they slept in tents most of the time and made do with field showers (or sometimes, none at all), field latrines and supply drops.

Every MI trooper had to go through "initiation". This was done to weed out those who were unsuited for the rigors and consisted of gassing the new recruits with a compound that both anesthetized and dulled their motor control. This meant that to move like a person did regularly would take some effort – hence why a good third of their recruits went crawling, limping or however they could get to the spaceport.

There, they'd be informed of what happened to them and then given the choice one last time. If they wanted to keep at it, they'd be returned to one of the training units. If not, they receive a down check on their recruit training and are sent off to Starfleet Marines. If they wanted to come back, they'd have to appeal.

The first week of MI training would start with a briefing and information packet about the flora and fauna, temperature and weather conditions and places to avoid on the planet, followed by a trip to the quartermaster for their uniforms and gear.

Once that was done, they'd start marching out to any one of the training grounds and from there, begin training. They'd get supply drops consisting of weapons, training gear, ammunition and other supplies.

Occasionally, the food supply drop wouldn't arrive, which meant they'd have to fend for themselves until the next supply drop. Each unit was equipped with a radio for the training officer to request whatever supplies and medical attention if they needed to.

This would continue out in the field for a few months, and once basic training was done, they'd return to the actual base and begin combat training there and learn the ins and outs of the standard issue MI hardsuit.

Three months after that, they'd be introduced to the Marauder series powered armor and learn how to use them in ground and space assault missions, plus orbital drops.

"How many?" Pierce asked, eyes glued to the big monitor on base. Since this was unofficially the MI HQ, they also had feeds from ongoing operations on screen. At the moment, the screen was showing a smash op somewhere along the edge of the Citadel-Terminus border to knock out a known slaver colony.

"Right now?" Colonel Sink asked, nodding to the screen. "The Chesty Puller and Black's Bastards. They're goin' in with Marauders and grunts."

"Hostage rescue?" Pierce asked, turning his head.

Sink nodded. "Yep. How's the new batch?"

Pierce wagged his hand. "Same same. We got a few notables – Shepard's kid is here."

Sink's eyebrows shot up. "Shepard? As in former MI Captain Shepard?"

"Yes, sir." Pierce nodded. "She's in my unit."

Sink shook his head. "How many have dropped out so far?"

"It's gone up to two thousand, thirty six out of three thousand, seven hundred and forty seven."

"Chief." Pierce turned around, checking his watch with a glance.

"Sergeant."

"Trainees have been geared, fed and briefed. Orders?"

"Put 'em to sleep for three hours, then we start the march."

Meanwhile...

Shepard found herself (among others) trying to keep to themselves in the shower. There were a few who thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but on the whole it was something she found extremely embarrassing.

(Un)Thankfully, they were only given two minutes for a shower, so her embarrassment didn't last long.

Her roommate seemed relatively pleasant, though displeased at the showering situation.

After a nice hot meal (and probably their last), they were given some literature to read.

More people dropped out.

They were marched over to the quartermaster to pick up some more gear.

More people dropped out.

Finally, after a briefing, nighttime rolled around and they were all told to go sleep for the night.

But as she laid there in her bunk, the only thing she could think of was what lie in front of her. Joining had been an obstacle all on its own – with its uncertainty and unknown that lay outside of her comfort zone, with only a thin sliver of a buffer thanks to her father and that man Zaeed.

The seconds ticked endlessly and impossibly loud in the barracks as she stared up at the ceiling all night.

Countless others shifted in their beds, the springs creaking as they did so. A bunch of them even stared to talk about home, exchange names, that sort of thing.

"Shepard." Someone whispered.

She blinked. "Yes?" She whispered back.

"Oh good, I'm not the only one awake." Her bunk mate whispered, poking her head down from the top bunk. "Couldn't sleep?"

Shepard sat up in bed, nodding. "Yeah."

"So...Earther, colonist or a space brat?"

Shepard chuckled. "Space brat. Perks of having a MI for a father."

"Heh. Mine was Starfleet. Admiral Archer."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Melissa Archer?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?" She asked, frowning.

"Didn't we meet at that award ceremony a few years back?"

Before she could respond, the doors busted open and in walked the Chief and his sergeants, banging an empty metal bucket with an extendable baton.

"RISE AND SHINE LADIES! GEAR UP AND FORM UP OUTSIDE! FIVE MINUTES!" The Chief bellowed.

The sound of people scrambling out of their bunks followed shortly.

It took them all a good fifteen minutes to finally get out there, whereupon they noticed several things.

First, there were well over a thousand of them and only a handful of instructors, plus the Chief.

And second, they were all pissed.

"Fifteen _fucking _minutes!" The Chief bellowed. "I know old men who fuck faster than you pathetic pukes move! Now, normally, I'd drop you all to the deck and keep you there until we need to replace your damn arms with prosthetics, but we're fucking short on time!" He paused, before kicking the ground.

"Goddamn it. I cannot believe my fucking luck." He grumbled. "To think that I of all people, would be saddled with you frakking wimps!" He spat.

The instructors remained stone faced.

"Well, that doesn't matter anymore." He continued. "Each one of your groups came from a barracks. Each barracks is to be considered its own section, and will be assigned a section leader at the end of today. If you are one, you are responsible for everything your section does or does not do! This means if they fuck up, it is ON YOUR HEAD! Understood!?"

**_"SIR, YES, SIR!"_**

"Well, at least you apes are good at _something_. Fall out and check each other's gear – we move in twenty minutes!" The Chief ordered.

Two weeks later...

Immediately following the real Day One march out to Training Ground Four, half of the remaining recruits dropped out in various intervals – some after the first three miles, some halfway, and there were eve those who dropped out at the very end.

This however, served multiple purposes for the Chief and his instructors.

For one – since the recruits were not required to stay in formation during this march, so long as they stayed with the group, this meant that recruits were not prohibited from helping out fellow recruits.

This also helped the instructors pick out recruit cadre by observing those that did – and from there, would make a determination as to who would be best suited for squad leader, platoon sergeants and leaders, and the section's sergeant and leader.

Who they were didn't matter – just because they showed potential for it didn't mean they'd last until now.

Statistically, the first two weeks were known unofficially amongst MI as Whiskey-14 (Washout). Within these first two weeks, the numbers of the entire training troop would be cut down by as much as three quarters.

This time, they had a little over six hundred remaining, split into three sections.

Commanding Section 1 was Recruit Lieutenant Winters and Recruit Sergeant Avery; Section 2 Lipton and Barnes, and the 3rd was Chan and Jameson.

Winters and Avery, he wasn't worried about them. Winters was a transfer from Starfleet Marines. To be more specific, he was from their Spaceborne Infantry division, which meant he jumped out shuttles from sub-orbit. As was Liption, as was Chan.

They were the...lesser cousin of the Mobile Infantry. They were usually called on most of the time since they weren't as heavily armed or as aggressive as the Mobile Infantry were.

Avery, while new, had MI blood in her – and had hailed from a long line of good soldiers. She, along with Winters, had kept their section's morale up, even going so far as to take some of the extra load off those who were struggling to keep up.

Section Two dealt with the march a different way. Halfway through the march, Lipton began taking charge and instead of taking the extra load off, decided that they wouldn't cross the line until all of them did. This worked very well, although it did get him yelled at a few times for falling behind.

As for Section 3, Chan had slowed them down, sped them up, but never stopped – all the time while helping those falling behind make it back to the group.

This bunch also proved to be the most surprising, since for once, the Chief and his cadre actually had to consider who they would be picking for first string squad leader positions since quite a few recruits stepped up to the plate.

Ultimately, it was decided to rotate them to give everyone a shot throughout training.

So far, they were doing well, despite having to deal with the temperature extremes that accompanied the night and day cycles, as well as having to sleep outside with limited camping gear.

It'd be another two weeks before they started covering weapon training. For now, it was all just about drill and ceremonies, as well as tactics, strategy, and in general, knowledge.

During this time, recruits were expected to spend most of their time studying when not doing physical training or doing whatever training that was lined up – such as unarmed combat and rules of combat.

"First rule of combat – you _do_ not fight fair!" The Chief instructed. "You fight fair, and you're halfway onto the casualty list! _Never_ fight on even terms with your enemy."

Recruit Alenko chose this moment to raise his hand. "Uh, sir, what about rules of engagement?"

"Son, the MI is usually called in when the fighting gets too heavy for Starfleet to deal with it, or when things get too hot for conventional troops to go in. What that means is we are essentially, the heavy cavalry of the entire Alliance military. We ride into battle on the MX-63 Marauder Powered Assault System _directly_ into hot AOs and either bail out friendlies or whatever we are called upon to do. The point is, 90% of the time in our work, we only have ONE rule of engagement – avoid inflicting any harm to civilians. That is it. Beyond that, you get into a fight with a pirate, slaver, enemy soldier, whatever – you cheat your ass off. Blind them with dust, acid, spit, shit, piss, hair, whatever. But you do not fight on even grounds. Clear?"

"Yes, sir." Alenko nodded.

"This goes for all of you. Clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And quit callin' me sir. You will address us by _rank_, which means you answer me with Chief." He added. "Now then, who here can name a martial art?"

Several hands went up, and the answers ranged from mixed martial arts, to aikido, to systema, to the ever popular kung fu and karate.

When it came Shepard's turn however, she answered "Krav Maga".

The Chief nodded at that one. "Krav Maga!" He repeated, clearly indicating that she had given him the answer he was looking for. "Krav Maga is a martial art used by Israeli Special Forces back in the 20th Century and is still being taught today alongside all those other styles. But what separates Krav Maga from all those other styles is that it is a "Street" style, which means it embodies the principle of "anything goes". This is the primary style we will be teaching you. Learn it, practice it, and when using it, to always be aware of what you're doing. You do not want to use a move normally reserved for enemy combatants on some civilian in a pub brawl." The Chief warned.

Several months later...

Shepard and her squad were currently dug in hard somewhere in a simulated forest, with old M-14's pointed everywhere with two M-60 gunners along for the ride.

So far, they had been sitting there for the better part of two hours in the exercise, which was against another squad from a different section.

And time was running out.

So came the decision – stand her ground or go and hunt?

She was entrenched in a good position with plenty of fire, which would mean that any attacks on their position would risk being eliminated, whereas if they stayed here, they'd lose via time limit.

"What's the plan?" Her second, Alenko asked. "Do we stay here or go hunting?"

Shepard frowned, unsure. She'd be stupid to give up her position, but she didn't want to lose either.

So, she compromised.

"Alenko, you're in charge." She whispered, climbing out of cover, rifle at the ready. Slowly, and carefully, she moved forward as quietly as she could.

She had only made it a few feet when her vest rang out and gunfire filled the clearing.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" The Chief barked, entering the area. "Shepard, what the HELL were you thinking!?"

"I was thinking about scouting ahead, Chief!" Shepard announced, snapping to attention.

The Chief regarded her momentarily, before nodding. "Not a bad idea, Shepard – but you're dead."

"My squad won. That's all that matters." She answered. "I had to do _something_ – we were running low on time and there was no sign of the enemy."

The Chief nodded understandingly. "Fair enough. At least you've got guts." He added. "Report back to the staging area for debrief and after-action report!" He said loudly.

"Well, at least we won that one." She muttered, before putting on the KIA card on around her neck.

Two weeks later...

"Troopers! This is the MX-63 Marauder Powered Armor System, and for the duration of your stint in the MI, will be your steed. You don't have to catch it or feed it, but you do have to take care of it. Take good care of it, and it'll take good care of you. Weapon systems on this include monomolecular chainsaw and combat knife, positron laser rifle, autocannons, assault cannons, rockets, missiles, grenade launcher, and variable yield tactical N2 warheads that go up to a maximum of two kilotons. And that's just the beginning." The armory officer instructed.

"Along with it is the MX-44 Hammer Pod, which delivers you and your Marauder down to the surface via capsule launcher. When we are done with you, you will know everything you will ever need to know to use, maintain, and effect battlefield repairs on _every_ piece of equipment on it. For the next month, you will study your asses off. And then from then until graduation, you will learn how to be Mobile Infantry. You will eat lead and shit death. And you will take whatever pathetic fighting your enemy thinks passes for combat, and you will return it with a pool of their own fucking blood to drown in."


	2. Chapter 2 (Actual)

A/N: I do not own Mass Effect, Star Trek, Starship Troopers, or any other material I might use in writing this story. If you have a complaint, be civil.

A/N 2: Uploaded the wrong chapter. Sorry.

* * *

Six Months Later...

"Welcome home, trooper." Her father, Captain Adrian Shepard, 3rd Mobile Infantry greeted warmly with a salute.

There stood in the Shepard's household doorway was newly graduated Lance Corporal Alexandria Shepard, dressed in standard issue fatigues with her gear in that familiar green bag.

"It's nice to be back." She smiled softly, entering the doorway. She dropped her bag off to the side and gave him a hug.

"Why don't you head on up and change and shower? Dinner'll be ready by the time you get out." He said fondly, picking her bag up. "Your room's just the way you left it."

"Really? I would've thought you'd have turned it into a spare guest room or something." She replied in surprise, unbuttoning her BDU top.

"Not a chance in hell." He growled, heading to the laundry room.

They lived on Elysium – but not in the city itself, they lived outside the city in a nice big house. It had multiple rooms on two floors plus a basement and included everything from a kitchen to an indoor armory, range and reloading station.

Her father, for whatever reason, always felt that despite the fact that humanity had advanced sufficiently to create hand held energy weapons, that sometimes, the old ways were best – and because they also gave you an edge that most wouldn't expect.

What you do is you take a the frame of one of the mass market "mass accelerator" weapons, and instead of sticking the eezo core and power source into it, you put in a barrel, springs, and a magazine well into it so you have an old gun that looks like a new gun.

Because kinetic barrier systems operated were reactive systems and would activate themselves whenever they detected a projectile traveling at a certain speed on a collision course, they would activate. Since regular old bullets didn't travel fast enough to trip them, that meant all they had to content with was armor.

This went into a whole bunch of political stuff that every MI had to learn about.

Due to the first contact gone wrong at Relay 314, the rest of the galaxy were aware of the types of weapons that the military used and their power.

When the Citadel Council intervened and laid the terms out for peace however, humanity had three choices – go to war, accept, or refuse.

Not wanting to start up a war, they accepted – and several new orders were issued, all of which were to keep the Citadel Council in the dark as a whole.

To make a long story short, the Alliance accepted, but was only humoring the Citadel Council – and from there, would attempt to "elevate" the other races' scientific knowledge in subtle ways and influence them to not be, in the words of the Chief, "ass-backward dumbasses who think they know everything because they were there first."

Standard issue weapons to all ground forces therefore, actually had to be _downgraded_ to prevent the whole of the Citadel Space to throw a bitch fit at finding out that they were not as advanced as they thought they were.

What this boiled down to for Marines and Mobile Infantry was simple – if you're on ground, use bullets until otherwise informed.

In another time, there may have been more dissenters.

But the Marines and the Mobile Infantry took it in stride and simply added it to the list of things to complain about during down time – jokingly, of course. Not that it really mattered to them.

She stepped into the lavishly decorated bathroom and finished stripping off her fatigues, revealing pale and lightly tanned skin. It had been a long time since she actually had the chance to bathe by herself since the mixed bathing was something that occurred all throughout training.

She stared at her own face in the mirror, running a hand through her fiery red hair, undoing the bun she had it in. It fell smoothly down just past her shoulders.

She continued the self-examination, finally looking at the results of all that training. Gone was her formless stomach, and in its place were hardened abs.

She held her breath momentarily as she started undoing the bandages that kept her breasts from bouncing around during training, breathing a sigh of relief as the constrictive pressure was relieved, and then looked at herself once more in the mirror.

She struck a pose, arching her back slightly, pushing her chest out slightly, and then smiled mischievously. "Damn, I got sexy."

Laughing to herself, she went over to the tub and turned on the taps, letting the hot water flow into the tub and finished removing her clothes as she let the tub fill.

She turned off the water and slowly eased herself in, allowing herself to float momentarily in the ecstasy of a hot bath before she activated the air jets.

As she leaned back to enjoy the first proper bath she'd have since she left for training, she closed her eyes, and a goofy grin began to form.

'It _has_ been a while.' She thought to herself.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen...

Adrian chuckled to himself, wondering what the look on Alex's face would be when she finished cleaning up and came downstairs. He didn't tell her since he knew it'd be a bit weird, but an old friend of his would be dropping by any time now.

Which was why he was out back in the barbeque pit, tending to the rather large hunk of pork he started smoking seven and a half hours ago.

Good barbeque was hard to find in Elysium – which is why he made it himself. It was perfect for special occasions – particularly because the leftovers made for a good lunch the day after.

As for why he invited the Chief over, it was simple – she only knew him as an instructor and a superior officer. He wanted to introduce him as a friend of the family, and most importantly, someone she could trust when shit hit the fan and she needed help – because the MI takes care of each other.

As he poured himself another beer out back, he checked the temperature in the pit and the wood chunks he was using to smoke it. Since this was the last dose of smoke, the chunks had a lot of ash around them with a small patch of black left. Perfect.

He opened the lid to the outdoor storage area and started pulling out some foil, a large and two forks for pulling, plates and buns.

Thirty minutes later, he took the pork off the smoker, wrapped it in foil, and let it sit in the large pan to cool for a while.

"Thought I smelled pig."

Adrian grinned. "Well, you know – it's not every day your daughter joins the MI."

The Chief chuckled lightly. "Well, she's definitely got fire, I'll give her that. Kind of surprised you only taught her the basics, though." He added as an afterthought.

Adrian shrugged. "It's because we have competent instructors who know what the fuck they're doing. Can't say the same for you, though." He added. "Which side of the mine do you point at the enemy again?"

The Chief grumbled. "That was years ago and I was just a private." He said indignantly.

"Doesn't matter Pierce – you could be the man that cracks the transwarp barrier, but you will always be remembered as the grunt who didn't know how to operate a claymore mine to us." Adrian declared, grabbing two beers and handing one of them over to Pierce, raising it. "To the Mobile Infantry." He toasted.

After the beers were drank, they sat down in the lawn chairs and lounged, reminiscing about old times and talking about the new times – such as the exploits of Alexandria Shepard during MI training.

They continued on for some time until Alex came out the back. Gone were the fatigues and bun, and in their place was a pony tail, a t-shirt and some shorts.

"So, food ready yet?" She asked, walking towards the pit.

"Almost." Adrian replied with a straight face. "Grab a beer and sit down."

"Alright." She nodded, just passing the chairs that faced the pit. As she grabbed the offered beer from her father's hand, she looked around for a spot to sit in before finally noticing...

"Chief!?" She stammered, jumping in shock. "W-what are you doin' here?"

Slowly and deliberately, the Chief put the beer down and drew himself to full height, and put himself directly in front of Shepard. He gave her a menacing glare.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news." He started. She gulped, sweat beginning to form on her forehead.

He slowly reached behind him with both hands...

And withdrew a knife and a pistol.

"You forgot these." He said airly, handing them over and returning to his seat.

She looked down dumbly in confusion.

"Hell, you were right Captain – she _does_ look kinda cute confused." She heard him say humorously.

And then, they both broke into howling laughter.

Finally realizing she'd been had, her confusion turned into indignant anger. "Daaaaaaaaaaaaad..." She growled.

"Ah, calm down sweetheart, it was just a joke." Adrian explained in between laughs. "Allow me to introduce you formally. Alex, this is Master Chief Petty Officer Jackson Pierce. We served together for some time a while back when I was still a Sergeant and the Chief here was only a lance. He's also a family friend." Adrian explained.

"So relax, kid – I'm not here as your SDI." Pierce added.

"Oh great." She rolled her eyes. "Just what I need."

"There's somethin' else." Pierce continued. "Somebody up top was impressed with your performance during basic, so if I were you, I'd keep my nose clean for the next year or two."

"That fast?" Adrian raised an eyebrow.

"Part of it was because of you, but most of it her. Something about trying out a new officer training program because the one we have now is too costly in terms of recruits and what not." Pierce shook his head. "Basically, some bean counter back on Earth is trying to cut fucking corners. But to make a long story short, Shepard here's going to be tapped for OCS. You'll get the official nod within two weeks instead of your deployment orders. From there, you'll be heading back to Earth to attend the Academy, then onto the usual MI routine."

"Usual routine?" She asked.

"The Mobile Infantry differs from Starfleet in that our officers all must spend time as a grunt, and that during officer training, you'll be attached to an active unit heading into an op as a third lieutenant for evaluation. After that's done, you return to the Academy, and finish your schooling and graduate as a Second Lieutenant." Adrian explained. "Naturally, not all candidates survive the third lieutenant rank, so the MI's always in need of officers."

"Then what's the difference?" Shepard frowned.

"Instead of going for seasoned non-coms, they've decided to go with newer, more inexperienced troopers. Widen the pool, so to speak." Pierce added. "But since you're a freakin' genius, that shouldn't be too hard for you."

The timer went off.

"Hey, pork's ready to pull." Adrian grinned, heading over to the work area. He picked up the forks and started "pulling" the pork with them.

There wasn't a single scrap left over by the time they were done.

"Got any more food?" Alex asked, picking her teeth with a toothpick.

"You know, I think I got some steaks in the fridge. Let me go get 'em and prep 'em for the grill. What about you, Chief?"

"I'll take one." He grinned. "It'd be nice for a Shepard to not fuck up a food drop for once."

"That was one time!" She protested, blushing in embarrassment.

"You somehow managed to throw the grenade into the only pond on the planet." He deadpanned. "Twice."

"There was sand in my eye!"

"Well, if you had listened to me and put on your damn goggles, you wouldn't have had sand in your eyes, would you?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, harumphed, crossed her arms and grumbled, looking away.

Pierce opened up another beer.

The Chief as it turns out, was on Elysium temporarily and was currently staying at the main base on Elysium with Starfleet Marines since the MI weren't normally assigned for colony duty – even if they were the ones that advocated ensuring all colonies were either had heavy defenses or were within sixty seconds of backup.

Elysium only had a contingent of Marines, some light positron laser cannons, and thirty photons. to defend itself with, although it was located in "safe" territory. It wasn't located anywhere near the frontier, and was in the process of developing into a "pleasure" or resort planet. It had the weather, the locales, and most importantly it was safe.

So, deciding to put her free time to good use (at the pressuring of her father, who all but shoved her out the door with money to burn), she hit the strip – which folks called New Vegas. Filled with lights, dancing fountains, street shows, and an old-fashioned monorail system and smaller replicas of the Great Wonders, the cacophony of chaotic bells, whistles and lights were more than a little disorienting.

"Vegas indeed."

As she walked the streets, she passed by several street promoters and a holographic Elvis belting out "Viva Las Vegas".

"First time at the strip?" She snapped out of her thoughts, looking at the source of the voice. It was an older gentlemen with grayed out hair with a twinkle in his eyes and a very charming smile, dressed in a suit.

"Uh...yeah. Who are you?" She asked, stepping up to the terminal.

"Me? My official designation is NVHGR-04639-B, but since that's a mouthful, you can just call me Vic. Vic Fontaine. Welcome to Vegas, trooper." He grinned. "Congratulations on your graduation."

"Uh...thanks. How'd you know?" She asked, confused.

"It's my job to know. See, thing is with being a resort world, you gotta know your customers. Since it's impossible for a regular human to do the job, that's where us AI's come in. We can access arrival records and the like and find out basic info, stuff like where you just came from and how long you're staying. Helps us deliver on the whole resort aspect of things." He explained. "So, tell me – what are you in the mood for?"

"Well...what do you recommend?"

"Well, personally, I'm a little biased, but you might want to come back later tonight to see the show tonight at the Fortuna. But for the more immediate time, there's the gambling at just about every place here on the strip – it depends largely on your taste. There's also the New Vegas Combat Arena, where people can go and get a taste of what fighting's like, minus the death and injuries. There's also the restaurants, the shopping, the list goes on. Got an omni-tool? I'll give you a map."

"Sure." Shepard nodded.

"Done. Take care of yourself, alright? See you around. And don't forget – tonight at the Fortuna. Just tell 'em Vic sent you." Vic smiled, before heading off.

She opened her omni-tool and found a map of the area, a list of all the attractions and places complete with descriptions, and what looked like a mono-rail pass.

Taking it in stride, she decided to just check out the nearest one – which happened to be a place called "The Falls".

Upon entering, she found a very well decorated and wide open lobby. In the center were some bronze colored pipes with water flowing through it sitting in the center of a very large fountain. A little farther in and she came to the central area of the place, which had a map detailing the different casinos, shopping areas, and arcades.

She decided to just walk around, checking out the shopping areas. She even passed by a live pianist playing as shoppers walked around, checking out the various things being sold. Everything was sold here – ranging from tourist souvenirs to all kinds of minerals, jewelry, alcohol; there was even a couple of shops that sold armor and weapons for the combat arenas.

Then she found one store with something in the window that caught her eye.

She entered the store.

"Excuse me – but are those _lightsabers_?" She asked.

"Yeah. We make 'em for people who want to use 'em in the combat arena. They're perfectly harmless." The staffer said, reaching for one of the sabers and igniting it. It even gave off the authentic snap hiss. And, to prove how harmless it was, he grabbed the lit blade with his hand.

"See? Perfectly harmless outside of the combat arena. They're not good for much other than that, other than novelty's sake." He paused. "We specialize in custom made gear." He added.

"Is it all for the simulated stuff or do you guys do combat-grade replicas as well?"

"We do...but we normally don't get that many orders for stuff like that. Only about a quarter of the people that come here actually buy anything – most of them are just here to "play" with the toys."

Shepard nodded, thanked the man for his time and browsed around for a bit before she left and continued exploring. Thirty minutes later, she decided to pay the food court a visit – and ran into some old friends.

"Holy shit! Alex!" She heard someone exclaim. "Hey guys, it's Alex!"

She whirled around in recognition. "Elena!?" She exclaimed.

She was then suddenly tackled to the floor and enveloped in a hug by what appeared to be...a kid.

"Orianna!" A sigh. "Sorry, Alex."

"Don't worry about it." Shepard groaned, sitting up, rubbing her head. "Wait, Miranda? Elena? Orianna? What are you guys doing here?"

"Vacation, duh." Orianna scoffed. "Where have you been!? I haven't seen you in like...forever!"

"That's because I haven't been around." She commented. "You guys here by yourselves?"

Elena and Miranda shared a nervous glance between each other, which didn't go unnoticed by Shepard.

"Not really. The guys are currently checking out lightsabers somewhere." Elena explained hesitantly. "But enough about that – look at you! You got sexy." She teased, poking her left breast.

Alex shrugged. "Hey, working out will do that." She grinned. "Like what you see?" She teased.

Elena gave a saucy grin. "Mmmmm..." She said, leaning in. "It _has_ been a while."

The two of them locked eyes...

And then immediately broke out laughing. "Oh god, that was fucking horrible!" Elena laughed. "Like what you see?" She repeated, mockingly. "It's good to have you back Alex."

"How long are you back for?" Miranda asked curiously.

"A week or two." She admitted. "I joined the Mobile Infantry."

Silence.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAATTT!?"

Shepard gave an apologetic look to the rest of the people who had all turned their heads to see what was the problem.

"You _joined_ the MI? Why didn't you tell us!?" Elena demanded. "We gotta throw you a party. How's tonight sound?"

"I would, but I've got a show to attend." Shepard said.

"Where?" Orianna asked.

"Uh...The Fortuna? Tonight?"

Miranda raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Alex, you know that's one of the hardest shows to get into, right?"

Alex frowned. "Vic said differently. He told me to just tell 'em he sent me."

"You _met_ Vic Fontaine!?"

Alex suddenly had the sinking feeling that her father did a lot more than just shove her out the door.

"Well, we can always go tomorrow." Elena said cheerfully. "But you've got time now, right? Come on – we were gonna hit the food court and wait for the guys there. You can tell us all about training."

"Meet anyone interesting?" Miranda asked, Orianna in tow.

"You could say that." Alex said, wagging her head from side to side.

"Bet there were a lot of hot guys." Elena grinned.

"If you're into jarheads." Orianna quipped. All three of them turned their gaze onto the younger member of their group with a mix of surprise and humor.

"Hey, don't give me any of that little kid crap." She growled.


	3. Chapter 2-2 (Actual)

Disclaimer: See either Chapter 1 or 2.

A/N: Consider this Chapter 2, Part 2 due a brain fart on my part.

* * *

If there was one thing humanity excelled at studying, it was war. Even though they had ceased to fight amongst themselves as a whole, this did not stop those disgruntled with the new regime or those who still felt the old ways of greed were best from attempting to force their point with...well, brute force.

But among the many evolutions of warfare that humanity's gone through over the years, none was more important these days than that of cyber warfare – the war of CYINT or cyber intelligence.

Thus was borne Section 31 – although it had an official name. And unlike its old, 20th century TV equivalent, they hid in plain sight – operating as the Uplink Corporation, which specialized in cyber mercenary work. Agents that worked for Uplink Corporation used remotely accessed "gateways", purpose designed by the agent and built by Uplink, it was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the entire galaxy. Other corporations attempted to mimic the same kind of structure Uplink had, with varying degrees of success – though few ever came close.

Because the connection between an Agent and the gateway was the _only_ link connecting agents to the gateway was heavily encrypted and utilized quantum key, this meant that the closest anyone would get to finding a hacker would be their gateway – if it had not already been destroyed by an "equipment" malfunction. The ultimate authority lay with Uplink Corporation's General Director to whether or not reveal the information the authorities.

That was just a cover of course – because what Uplink agents did was to take advantage of other companies' greed and desire to outdo one another. So, whenever they were asked to delete a file or crash a system or two, they always...took a little extra with them.

You'd be surprised how often crucial intelligence was stored on servers lacking proper security.

Which was why the Uplink Corporation kept its records decentralized and on stand-alone networks. Field agents of S31 however, once again, like its fictional counterpart from the 20th Century, had implants that turned the inside of their minds into mobile data servers which allowed an agent to quickly identify and neutralize threats as needed.

At the moment however, the Alliance Intelligence Committee was pushing for a new project to take advantage of this "new" technology by putting all of the Alliance's intelligence into a computer system and then putting said system into an agent's head.

A novel concept, even if it was born from a B-grade TV spy thriller. Implants simply didn't work that way - S31 implants meant you either knew or didn't. You didn't stare at something that would suddenly trigger a half-second trance-like state whereupon all relevant information suddenly flashes in front of your eyes.

One, it made you a target – two, it was easy to spot if you knew what the hell you were looking for, and three – that particular feature could be taken advantage of since there was no "override" so to speak, to allow the user to control the "flashes".

Besides, it made bugging out a lot easier. Intelligence typically only stays on the server long enough for it to be analyzed or encrypted into a form only S31 computers and implants would recognize. Anyone else who attempted to break into it would suddenly find themselves suffering hardware failure.

Uplink Corporation was the cyber-intelligence arm of Section 31, and provided the bulk of the intelligence.

But not all intelligence made it into their hands. Sometimes...things fall through the cracks.

And in their business, it was inevitable, and it was unacceptable.

"Report." M ordered.

_"Priority One communique from Uplink, sir. We have an imminent Psi class threat inbound to Elysium. Balthazar believes this to be the endgame."_

M grimaced. Over the past few months, S31 and Starfleet Intelligence had been actively fighting a guerilla war with what appeared to be Turian dissidents unsatisfied with the outcome of Relay 314. Since then, some progress was made in terms of peaceful relations and co-operation with the other intelligence services, but like all things – the other races seem to lack either the ability or sight necessary to innovate.

Now however, somebody has – and unfortunately, that somebody had a bone to pick with humanity, having released a video message featuring an icon and the usual distorted and altered voices. Turian Intelligence ruled out the possibility that the mastermind of all this was Scultus, since the man was dying in disgrace at his family's home, claiming that the Alliance were both liars and a threat to the rest of the galaxy.

And this particular group did have quite a following – up until they started hitting civilian targets. At least the Turians were good at adhering to protocol.

"Probability of attack?"

_"Current calculations are indicated at 92.35316%. Balthazar recommends we move forces to reinforce Elysium immediately."_

"We can't – not without leaving the rest of our forces stretched thin. Bastard's got us putting out prairie fires all around the fucking place." M grumbled. "What available assets do we have in the area?"

_"Elysium – current population eight million concentrated within New Vegas and several smaller outlying downs. Defenses include a company of Starfleet Marines armed with standard issue MAWs, scattered light positron defense cannons, and six photon torpedoes. However, there are several newly graduated MI on leave, plus Master Chief Pierce."_

"Time to attack?"

_"Less than 24 hours. Soonest we'll be able to chop reinforcements to Elysium is 64 hours."_

M took a deep breath. "Do we have time to make a munitions drop?"

_"No, sir – we don't."_

M nodded silently, the connection closing as he pulled up a holographic map of Elysium.

"Eight million souls." He muttered, shaking his head. "I feel sorry for this bastard afterwards. Balthazar!"

_"Yes, Director?"_

"I want this son of a bitch's location."

_"Already on it, Director. Uplink has been notified to keep an eye out for any usable cyber intelligence."_

Back at the Food Court...

"So then, Jace just cold clocks the bastard in the face!" Miranda recounted, telling Alex the story of what had happened in the last few months she was gone. Currently, they were on the top of Shepard's ex, whom aside from being a total and utter bastard was only in it for the sex.

"In front of the Dean? What happened afterwards?" Alex asked, surprised.

"Nothing. Dean walked on by like it never happened – which was totally epic." Elena added, sipping a margarita – a _real_ margarita – made with tequila, lime and orange juice and not with that overly sugary ice slush bullshit.

"So, business as usual, hmm?" Shepard summed up. Ex getting what he deserved, friends finding someone, getting job offers...

"Sounds about right, yes." Miranda nodded, running a hand through her long, silky smooth blonde hair. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry, Miri." One of them apologized. "We got kind of side-tracked and those two got into another Time Crisis competition."

"Who won?" Elena asked, sliding over to make room for the newcomers.

"I did, of course." Jace grinned, putting an arm around Elena. The two kissed briefly.

"So, who's the new girl?" Miranda's boyfriend asked.

"Oh, sorry." Miranda apologized. "Leon, this is Alex. Alex, this is Leon – my boyfriend." She introduced.

Alex shook hands with Leon, briefly muttering the usual pleasantries.

"Alex? Where the hell have you been? You just upped and left!" Jace questioned. "Was it because of Pete?"

Alex shook her head. "Nah. It wasn't him. I joined the Mobile Infantry."

"No shit." Leon said, surprised. "Really?"

She nodded.

Leon whistled. "Damn. I've heard horror stories about their training."

"It was." Alex nodded.

They looked at her apprehensively. "Well? What's it like?"

"Sorry, can't tell you." Alex said apologetically.

"Can't, or won't?" Orianna demanded.

"Can't. We're literally barred from telling anyone what training is like for the MI. I don't know why." She said, ordering another drink.

They continued chatting in the food court for the next hour or so. It was a pleasant surprise, meeting up with old friends again.

But then, somewhere along the lines, she frowned. The air seemed a little more tense, for some reason.

"Is it me or did this place suddenly get quieter?" She asked suddenly, interrupting the debate between roast beef and tuna sandwiches.

Orianna tilted her head to the side, turning her attention away from her omni-tool briefly, and then frowned. "Yeah. How'd you notice that?"

"Comes with the territory." She added, just as her communicator rang. "Hello?"

_"Shepard. Where are you?"_

"Chief? I'm in the food court at the Falls, why?"

_"We have an imminent threat inbound. All forces planet-side are being recalled to active duty. Get to the nearest base and prepare for incoming action." _*Click*.

A knot began to form in her stomach as nervousness began to creep in. "Guys – go home and find somewhere safe to hide." She said grimly, standing up.

"Alex? What's wrong?" Miranda asked, frowning.

"Just do it, okay?" She repeated quickly. "Stay safe – I've got to go." She said, paying for her food and then leaving quickly.

Ten minutes after she left, a planet-wide announcement was issued. Elysium was preparing for invasion.

One hour later...

Starfleet Marine Captain Rico Lafayette stood in the base's war room, which was currently projecting the current evacuation progress across the planet.

Since New Vegas was big enough and because it was also where they could concentrate their anti-orbital efforts from, they were using it as both a staging ground and warzone.

They had a handful of light M-35 "Mako" tanks, armed with a co-axial machine gun and a main gun, both of which were mass accelerator designs. They were fast, maneuverable, and their unique construction allowed them to make gravity-defying climbs by a combination of its mass effect field configuration and its treads, which actually allowed it to cling to flat surfaces so long as there was enough surface area for the treads to "grab" onto and so long as the treads themselves weren't damaged too heavily.

It also came with boosters to allow it to function as a "cavalry" tank and jump on the battlefield. Typically used as a scouting vehicle, it was perfect against troops and other light tanks.

They weren't the only ones doing the fighting this time, however.

Nope – in addition to his Marines, he had a company of brand spankin' new Mobile Infantry on Elysium for a two week break before their first assignments, and a Master Chief Petty Officer in charge of the whole bunch. The only upside was this particular trooper was well known and famed both for his ability to forge top-notch soldiers and his ferocity in battle.

And then of course, there was the Colonial Militia. They would be operating as security for the civilians while Starfleet Marines did most of the work. He wasn't about to trust the safety of the entire colony to a bunch of brand spanking new cadets.

The Chief calmly informed him that while he was welcome to suggest, he was not in the chain of command for the cadets since he was in another branch. At most, he could suggest.

"Listen up, troopers!" Chief barked, addressing the assembled company of recruits. "Those of you who wanted to see some action, you got your wish! Intelligence has informed us of an inbound invasion force run by some jackass intent on making the Alliance's life miserable, and I have it on _good_ authority that these are some _real_ son-of-a-bitch scumwads! Your orders are simple – kill every last son of a _bitch _attacking this rock and make sure we all get outta this alive. Now gear up and check the board for unit assignments!"

The resulting chorus was strong, determined and anxious to get some ass kicking in. He stood there for a few more minutes, watching his recruits mill around the board, talk, and then head out on the jeeps and cars.

Both Starfleet Marines and MI were equipped with magnetic accelerator weapons as standard issue. Most MI however, traded their magnetic accelerator weapons for a good old fashioned slug gun which took advantage of the mass effect field.

In terms of ballistics, modern magnetic accelerator guns based on alien designs were simply too inefficient at what they did. The idea of using a mass effect field and a gun that required a computer to work was flawed for multiple reasons. For one, fire an EMP and the gun became an expensive club. Secondly, the ballistics of the weapon design was flawed. The idea that a small round moving at very high speeds would inflict superior damage to soft tissue behind armor plating and a kinetic barrier was horribly flawed.

A small round moving at very high speeds, no matter what that round is designed to do is limited by the amount of damage it could potentially inflict due to size and speed. This meant that while the gun was probably hailed as the next generation of firearms to the aliens, it was a joke to the humans. A high velocity, small round, unless well-aimed was next to useless in terms of soft tissue damage potential. That was not to say high velocity small rounds were useless – only mostly useless.

In the case of the magnetic accelerator cannon, the rounds themselves were very poor mediums at transferring kinetic energy due to their high speed and miniscule size, although they did hit relatively hard against an unarmored target. The only purpose they were suited for were for dealing with kinetic barriers rapidly.

This ultimately made the magnetic accelerator weapon only attractive due to its lack of need to constantly replace ammunition since an ammo block could last for at least ten thousand rounds.

Human variants were nowhere near as high tech, and when hit with an EMP, still worked as a gun. This was because instead of using the mass effect and very small grains, they stuck with what worked. That is to say, they didn't change any of their projectile weaponry to the "newer, more advanced" magnetic accelerator guns.

Advancements in ballistics, metallurgy and recoil dampening technology allowed bigger rounds to be fired, faster, with less recoil in smaller guns. One such gun was the M-900 Modular Assault Weapon, which featured the ability to be re-configured for fire suppression, assault, CQB, grenadier work and "designated marksman" duties, which was not to be confused with sniping. Firing a variety of 10x88mm rounds between 650 to 900 rounds per minute, it could even be used to engage light armor vehicles and tanks. Against most standard configurations of kinetic barriers, they didn't need to worry about it because they simply were not moving nearly as fast as the rounds fired from a magnetic accelerator.

Of course, both services could've easily rolled out the position and plasma weaponry, but since they'd need to be "nerfed" while in alien territory, it was ultimately easier to just downgrade when outside human territory. Since the entire development of the entire galaxy was based around mass relays, they had little to fear – unless they were operating in a 30 light year radius of a primary or secondary relay. There was progress being made to gradually "uplift" the rest of the galaxy, although not nearly enough.

"Hey Chief...do we have any armor support, or are we gonna have to rely on the Starfleet Marines?" One trooper questioned.

"The only armor we've got on this entire rock belong either to the Marines, or the Colonial Militia. So no – we don't." Chief shook his head. It was unfortunate, but since the MI usually relied on Marauder suits, there really wasn't a need for a tank.

He paused, a thought suddenly entering his mind.

"Have we checked the war museum yet?" He asked.

"No Chief, we haven't." Another trooper answered.

"Shepard!" He barked. "Your squad with me, now! Double time!" He ordered. He waited all of thirty seconds for the aforementioned squad to gather before taking a jeep. "Hop in – we've got some good old fashioned war gear to break out."

"Hold up, Chief – are you thinking about _using_ those things?" Alex asked skeptically. "They're at least a hundred years old!"

"Who cares!? Those things have .50 cal machine guns and 155mm main guns! Let's go blow up some shit!"

Chief grinned approvingly, stomping his foot down on the accelerator. "Uh-huh. Damn right!"

As they drove through New Vegas towards the war museum, the various squad members of Shepard's unit made various comments on the way there.

Alex looked around – finding the sudden change from having streets full of entertainers and tourists to militia forces, light tanks and machine gun emplacements unnerving. Fear crept in as the unspoken question began to surface in every one of the recruits' minds – how bad would it get?

"Somethin' wrong, Corporal?" One of her squadmates asked – a Private Second Class by the name of Jenkins. As he often said, he was the "black sheep" of the family. Whereas his brothers and his father all served in Starfleet, he joined the Mobile Infantry.

She knew Jenkins, as well as the rest of her squad as they were all in the same Section during basic. He had a rather unflattering nick-name bequeathed upon him during training, which was the "Silent Fart" because he was quiet and stunk like hell. At first, this particular moniker was extremely humorous – right up until the point where he helped Section 2 win one particularly daunting battle against Section 3 by sneaking in and eliminating nearly a quarter of the remaining "hostiles" before they even knew he was there.

"It's just that I was here four hours ago, and it was full of people. It's kind of unnerving to see the streets so relatively empty." She replied.

"I hope they don't just bomb our asses from space." Razul added nervously, sliding in a 40mm grenade into her underbarrel grenade launcher. "I'd at least like the chance to go out fighting, you know?"

"You'll get your wish." The Chief replied in his usual gravelly voice. "Intelligence indicates that OPFOR is consisted of numerous pirate and slaver bands from Batarian and Terminus Systems forces. Just keep your rifles pointed down range, fingers on your triggers, and we'll get out of this in one piece." He reassured. "Damned to hell if I'm going to let that son of a bitch captain try to sideline the MI."

"Isn't that technically insubordination Chief?" Private Stone pointed out.

The Chief snorted. "Technically, if you take our respective services out of it. MI answer to MI, Marines answer to Starfleet. Man doesn't think you greenhorns are up to the job."

"Then we'd better make him look like a fucking idiot, then." Someone else declared. The rest of the squad offered their own agreements to that as well, less muted than before.

They pulled up in front of the War Museum, where the Colonial Militia was already gathering.

They climbed up the stairs as militia carried crates of ammunition and various weapons past them towards the various roadblocks and emplacements being setup.

Once they got closer, the Chief laughed.

"I thought your ass was retired." He quipped.

"Couldn't let you take all the fun." A familiar voice replied, looking up from a clipboard revealing none other than Adrian Shepard. "Though it looks like we beat you to it. What were you looking for?"

"Armor. Marines have got a bunch of Makos, but Captain Lafayette believes my troopers should sit this one out because they're all fresh outta training."

Adrian hmm'ed for a second. "That's going to be a problem since I was going to use them to bolster the roadblocks. Got something you might like better, though." He grinned, motioning for them to follow him.

As they walked to wherever the elder Shepard was taking them, the younger one caught up with him.

"Dad, what are you doing?" She whispered.

"My job. I'm not gonna sit back and stay out of something like this." Adrian replied. "Besides, the militia need someone experienced to lead them, and they figured I'd be best for the job."

"Alright." Alex relented, before falling back into formation.

They reached the back area of the museum, where the tanks were getting shield generators attached so they wouldn't simply fall apart at the first sight of enemy armor.

But, all the way in the back of the area, sat several helicopters from the 21st Century. They were used heavily until VTOLs became the standard for troop insertion and extraction.

These looked like Blackhawk helicopters – some with rockets and guns mounted, some with M-134 or Mk. 19 door guns.

"Oh, that's beautiful." Pierce smiled widely, running a hand down the side of one of the helicopters.

"I know." Adrian nodded. "There's a whole bunch of these and a bunch of Pave Lows – my men are getting them prepped and ready to go. You need any kind of fire support, and the Colonial Militia will provide it. We've got howitzers, field artillery pieces, and those choppers. Might be old, but I'd rather use this stuff over those fancy ass Mako tanks."

"Guess we didn't need to come here after all." Razul muttered.

"Now, don't you have an invasion to get ready for?" Adrian reminded.

Pierce scoffed. "We'll know when it's time to get ready. Shepard – take your squad and head out to your assigned area."

Alex nodded. "Yes, Chief. You heard the man – back into the jeep! Let's move!"

When they returned, one of the tech guys walked up to her, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Shields are installed, and we put a Mk. 19 40mm grenade launcher on the back. Should be more than enough for whatever those scumwad pirates can throw our way. Go kill some for me." The man grinned, heading back into the museum.

She paused, before turning around. "Who wants the gun?"

Like a bunch of petulant children, hands went up frantically. She sighed.

"Jenkins – you've got it. The rest of you, let's move. We've got a job to do." She ordered.

As the jeep sped away down the sparse streets of New Vegas, her father gave one last worried look towards their departing jeep before turning his attention back to the matter of the civilians being held inside the casinos.

Of course, Vic and a couple of others had already picked up on that. Vic himself had started putting on a show in the largest room possible, and the creative director had quickly patched him into the PA system for the entire casino.

"She'll be fine." Pierce reassured him, checking the magazine of his weapon. Instead of carrying an M-900, he carried a C-13 Battle Rifle which was a semi-automatic coilgun rifle adopted from the original Barrett rifle. It fired the newer, larger 60 caliber round since advancements in recoil dampening allowed manufacturers to use larger, more powerful rounds. And for added kick, he used Raufoss pattern ammunition – named after the Ml 211 "Raufoss" round – which back in those times was a .50 caliber armor piercing, incendiary high explosive round originally designed for anti-material work.

He looked up at the New Vegas skyline for the tallest building he could find.

"Planning on sniping?" Shepard asked.

Pierce nodded, shouldering the weapon. "With a city like New Vegas to defend, it should make for a target rich environment."

"I'll let Security know."

_"Attention, all forces – this is Overlord. Irene. I say again, Irene."_

_"Knock it off, jackass! This isn't a frakking movie! All units, this is ATC Grissom – deep space tracking has confirmed MRT, confirmed hostile. ETA, ten minutes."_

"You'd better get going." Shepard warned.

**"Troopers! Affix bayonets!"**


End file.
